


Be Careful, I Bruise

by wrabbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comment Fic, Community: shkinkmeme, Humiliation, M/M, Power Play, Prompt Fic, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-17
Updated: 2010-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have faint bruises just here," Mycroft commented. His fingers lifted and touched down higher, at the thin skin at the top of John's ribcage under his arm. "And here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Careful, I Bruise

John ground his teeth together as inquisitive fingers touched his sides at the base of his ribs, better to stop the surprised gasp building in his throat full of words like "Don't" or "Get off."

"You have faint bruises just here," Mycroft commented. His fingers lifted and touched down higher, at the thin skin at the top of John's ribcage under his arm. "And here."

John worked his fingers into the couch cushions. To touch the knees straddling his thighs would be too much like permission for this examination, deduction... deconstruction.

"Fingertips, repeated pressure in the same vulnerable area so as to leave a mark. No matching thumb marks and barely enough pressure to leave a trace. You must bruise quite easily. Most visible under your dominant arm, which suggests they were not self inflicted, although..." Mycroft's drew a manicured fingernail from the barely-there greenish mark under John's arm to the one under the cradle of his ribs, leaving a prickling itch in its wake.

John breathed in steadily through his nose although he was in dire need of air. He pressed a nail sharply into the heel of his hand.

"Have you drawn me a map, John?" Mycroft's eyes were glinting in a trick of light from the window, pricks of ice that melted and spread freezing water through John's chest. The bare skin of his chest tightened into painful goosebumps.

"Get off."

"It's nowhere close to the real thing, is it?"

"Stop it."

"It must be frustrating. I could help you."

"Fuck. Off." John squeezed his eyes shut. Mycroft's thumb swept undaunted back and forth and back and forth over his bare hip bone above his waistband. John dug his fingernails into the other man's knee cap.

"Tell me, did you make those bruises after you saw how Sherlock reacted to being woken up with my umbrella in his stomach the other afternoon? I saw your eyes, John."

John growled and rolled them both of the couch into a bone jarring crash on the floor before Mycroft could say more. He took the chance to pin Mycroft as he was momentarily wheezing at the ceiling. "I hate you."

"You were doing so well." Mycroft frowned and broke John's initial grip on his wrists.

"I think you made it clear that 'casual' wasn't working for me." For a moment they fought for control, Mycroft laughing breathlessly. "Damn you."

"What were you planning on doing, Dr. Watson?"

John gripped Mycroft's wrist tight enough to hurt, his head swimming with anger and frustration and fading humiliation. "You tell me."

"Something that won't leave any marks," Mycroft suggested with an earnestness that John didn't believe for a second. He broke off in a silent snort as the fingers of John's free hand slid into his waistcoat, angry, testing.

"I can't believe you."

"Be careful, I also bruise," - Mycroft interrupted himself with a sound of surprise as John violently untucked his shirt to reach skin - "easily."

"Shut. Up."


End file.
